How to Train Your Earl

by Amelia Grey

  “I’m sure of that. And it’s what I’m relying on. Yet, in fairness to our wager and my pledge, I must let you know when you’re being improper.”

  He leaned in close to her. The corner of his mouth twitched engagingly. “I haven’t been improper yet, Mrs. Feld.”

  His words were low, husky, and revealing. A breathless fluttering rushed through her. Yet, she stood still. Quiet. Hardly breathing, wanting to ask him what he considered improper. For a light-headed moment she wanted to tempt him to go further with his statement and show her what he meant.

  Instead, her good sense returned with a gasp of indignation and she asked, “How can you say that? You kissed me in Paris. You involved me in a shameful wager which prompted me to respond in kind.”

  As if to calm her, he gave a reluctant nod and in the same low voice, he answered, “I would do it all again for the chance to be with you. I regret nothing.”

  His honesty flushed her cold cheeks and caused ripples of desire to shoot through her. A hint of enchanting devilment sparked in his eyes and much to her obvious distress she reveled in it. It appeared they were both benefiting from this afternoon tête-à-tête.

  And that could only mean trouble for her. She hoped he took a drink soon.

  The horse nudged Brina’s back, breaking her concentration. She stepped away from the earl. Being around him wasn’t going to be easy. He made her smile, laugh, and feel things she thought she’d never experience again. It was going to be difficult to deny herself such tempting emotions.

  They walked over to where the groom had spread the blanket and placed the basket. Brina settled herself on one side and the earl on the other. The gray clouds were beginning to scatter but the wind was still brisk as a winter day. It rustled the budding leaves on the trees and whipped at her bonnet. In the distance, she heard carriage wheels rumbling and shouts from children playing. Yet, even with the sounds, there was always something peaceful about being in the park.

  After taking off his hat and gloves, Lord Blacknight unbuttoned his overcoat and pulled the dark beige scarf from his neck. He extended it toward her. “I think it’s large enough you can use it as a shawl. It will keep you warmer now that you don’t have the blanket for cover.”

  There was a softness in his voice she couldn’t refuse. His gentleness and thoughtfulness were astounding at times. “Thank you,” she whispered and took it from his hands.

  Brina wrapped the wool high around her nape, spread its width over her back and shoulders, tying the long ends across her breasts. The fine wool fabric held the fresh heavenly fragrance of his shaving soap. She breathed the scent in deeply. Heat from his body clung to it and soothed her chill instantly, making her want to sink and cuddle into it.

  “Let’s see what my cook prepared for us.”

  He moved the basket closer and opened it. A large napkin was the first thing he took out and lay in front of her. Next came two teacups and saucers. After taking the stopper out of a pewter bottle, he put it to his nose and smelled.

  “Good. It’s chocolate. I was afraid it might be tea.”

  “Afraid? That’s an unusual comment coming from you.”

  “A poor choice of words to be sure.” He carefully poured some of it into a cup.

  “Do you not have an appreciation for tea?”

  “I was only thinking of you. My cook serves tea warm but chocolate she makes piping hot. So, it should still be heated for you on this chilly afternoon.”

  His consideration warmed her as much as his scarf. She supposed there were times she judged him too harshly.

  He handed her the cup and she sipped. “It is. I thought you were going to tell me she usually adds a splash or two of brandy to your chocolate but not your tea.”

  The earl looked at her over his cup, his expression gentle but probing. She quirked her head as if to question him.

  “Is that the way your husband liked it?” he asked.

  Chapter 9

  The mention of Stewart startled Brina. She swallowed hard and slowly lowered her lashes, hoping Blacknight wouldn’t see how affected she was by his mention of her husband. She supposed it was a reasonable inquiry, but not one she expected from him. From anyone. Still, she didn’t want to overreact, but had to take a moment to collect herself.

  That meant not looking at the earl. She glanced away and watched a carriage roll past them in the distance. A lone rider had his horse cantering, and a couple walked arm in arm. Life was carrying on. Just as she’d had to do.

  She carefully settled the cup back on the saucer. After sucking in a deep breath of the cold, windy air, she cleared her throat, kept her eyes averted, and answered, “No, Stewart wasn’t a man with many vices. He seldom drank anything other than tea. He did love horse racing, but if he ever made wagers, he kept them to himself and didn’t speak of them.”

  “Did I disturb you by mentioning him?”

  She lifted her gaze back to the earl’s. He watched her intently. She was not sure what, if anything, she should say. Talking about her husband wasn’t improper, though it had been a while since she’d discussed Stewart with anyone.

  Blacknight stared at her long enough for her to know silence wasn’t an answer. She had to shake off her mild uneasiness that he was the first one to mention Stewart in a very long time and continue.

  “All right, no. I mean, yes. In a way, I suppose. Oh, who am I trying to persuade? Yes, of course it did. How could it not?”

  “That wasn’t my purpose,” he offered gently.

  “I know,” she answered in a controlled voice. “It’s that people seldom speak of him anymore. Not that I blame them. He’s been gone so long. It’s hard to— Everyone still calls me Mrs. Feld, but no one seems to remember Mr. Feld.”

  Blacknight nodded as if he understood when really she wasn’t sure she did.

  “I didn’t know him,” the earl admitted. “But I’ll talk with you about him anytime you want.”

  His soft expression and somber, sincere words suddenly made her feel like crying. She was thankful the chilling wind kept her eyes dry, and that the sensation passed quickly. Reflecting on her short marriage to Stewart wasn’t something she wanted to do with the very desirable man sitting across from her. The sadness of losing Stewart would never completely go away. She believed that was the way it was supposed to be for a man who had been as good as her husband.

  She swallowed and then took another sip from her cup. “Thank you, but no. I wouldn’t want to do that.”

  “All right but my offer stands.”

  She made no further comment about that, but said, “The chocolate is still warm and delicious. Not too sweet.”

  He looked in the basket again. Grateful he wasn’t going to press her to say more, she watched him pull out another napkin, open it, and display little fruit-topped biscuits. They looked delicious, but she was sure she couldn’t eat a bite.

  “How is your cousin Robert?” she asked, wanting only to change the subject.

  The earl kept his gaze concentrated on hers. “Did you forget we talked about Robert and Harper on the ride over here?”

  Oh, my. Yes, she had. In her haste to forget about Stewart, she’d asked the first thing that came to her mind.

  “But, I’m glad you mentioned him,” Blacknight said, not giving her time to respond to his question. “It gives me the chance to say I do think he appeared restless last night when I saw him at the club, even though he was winning. London has a much slower and more determined pace than Paris or Vienna. The people here are sometimes unbending in their outlook on life. I’m assuming that was the reason for his impatient behavior. It may take a while for him to settle down to Society’s ways again.”

  “And what about you?” she asked, hoping her cup remained steady in her hands. “Restless, too, in tired old, stodgy London? Are you yearning to race through underground tunnels in Paris again?”

  He shrugged blithely and then chuckled as he made himself more comfortable by leaning on his elbow and stretc
hing his long, powerful legs out on the blanket, crossing his booted feet at the ankles. It was highly irregular for a man to be so relaxed in front of a lady he wasn’t married to. Should anyone they know pass by and see them, there could be talk enough to turn into a scandal. Still, Brina couldn’t bring herself to remind him of the indiscretion he was exhibiting. Looking at him was simply too tempting to deny herself the joy.

  “There’s no time now for such idle thinking as was my pastime in France,” he told her. “I’m still trying to make sense of the evils of fate.”

  “Ah, is that all? Well, my lord, let me assure you that can’t be done. I’ve tried to figure it out myself.”

  “I’m sure you have.”

  Her gaze held a moment too long on his, so she cleared her throat and finished off the last sip of chocolate before placing her cup on the saucer in front of her. She hadn’t meant to return their conversation to such a troubling one.

  He saved her from having to reply to his softly spoken sentence by adding, “It’s more than just that I never wanted to be an earl.” He absently opened the chocolate, poured more into her cup, and handed it to her. “The thought of ever being the earl and head of my family never entered my mind. There were too many male relatives in line for the title for it to have been possible. If not for that cruel stroke of fate. I’ve been Zane Browning, the black sheep of the family for as long as I can remember. It’s hard to stop being him.”

  From experience, Brina knew no one could help him settle his issues with how his life had changed and the reasons for it. She’d tried it herself for years. She could be a buttress, but not an anchor, nor an answer.

  “That’s why you wanted to court me, was it not? To help you adjust to the proprieties of being an earl rather than a rake.”

  “If only that had turned out the way I had planned.” He chuckled good-naturedly. “You have not made my way easier. You have made it even harder.”

  She needed to hear that. “As was my intention. Now, tell me, what did you do today?”

  He looked at her as if she were asking him a trick question. “Are you thinking I might have mumbled a coarse curse or two when my uncles and solicitor arrived at the door before my morning coffee?”

  “Of course not.” She twitched him a smile. “But I do expect that if you do, you’ll let me know so we can end our arrangement. In the meantime, if you are going to insist we spend some time together, we must have something to talk about or things will become quite boring.”

  “I could never get weary looking at you, Mrs. Feld.”

  “You say that now, but I doubt you would feel the same three weeks from now, if you by chance make it that long, and we had nothing to talk about.”

  “All right. My uncles, solicitors, and accountants continue their long list of instructions for all the things I’m now responsible for, decisions I have to make concerning businesses, tenants, contracts, families, allowances. Frankly, Mrs. Feld, I was happy for them to rush me out to make sure I wasn’t late to your house.”

  “Speaking of lists. It so happens I have something for you.” Picking up her reticule, she pulled it open and reached inside. She took out a small book and folded sheet of vellum. She handed the book to him. “It’s a little worn because I’ve read it several times. It’s small and will fit very nicely in your coat pocket.”

  He glanced down at the front of it before catching her gaze again. “It’s poetry.”

  “Yes,” she said as seriously as possible, considering the confused expression on his face filled her with glee. “Every gentleman, especially earls, should always have a little book of poetry with them. For you, specifically, whenever you feel the need to gamble, drink, or whatever—pull it out of your pocket instead. You’ll find it will quiet you and help curb your urges.”

  Wrinkles formed on his forehead and around his eyes. “That sounds very much like a prison sentence to me, Mrs. Feld.”

  Good, she thought. He was making it difficult for her not to laugh. “Poetry strengthens the mind, the heart, and the soul. You can’t absorb too much of it. You’ll find it sustaining in your weaker moments.”

  “You are a clever one,” he chided lightly, and pointed to the sheet of paper in her lap. “So, what’s this? You give me an entire book to read, but you only have one piece of paper. That hardly seems fair.”

  His attitude was perfect, and she was quite happy. He needed to be a little irritated with her. It was far better for her. “That’s because these are my notes, and I am going to be studying them while you read on this windy day. Imagine how delighted your uncles would be if they came riding or walking by and saw you sitting in the park, reading the much-maligned poet John Keats.”

  His expression was relaxed and he was so easy to look at. The allure of him suddenly made her shiver and she pulled his scarf tighter about her shoulders.

  “They would indeed be shocked. No doubt about that, Mrs. Feld. They’ve never forgiven me for not being a better student of subjects such as poetry when I was at Oxford.”

  “You had things other than your studies on your mind, did you?”

  “Always, but they were happy to know I did well enough to comprehend all the intricate notations and explanations of numbers in the account books they have placed in front of me. It shouldn’t have surprised them. I’ve always been good with numbers. They seem to stay in my mind without me trying to make them.”

  “I’m sure that’s been helpful for you when playing cards.”

  “Immensely. The natural talent added with the skills I’ve learned has been good to me.”

  “It sounds as if authority and responsibility weren’t the things you wanted fate to gift you.”

  “No, but now that it has, I will do my dam—duty and my best to be good at them.” His brow wrinkled, and his head tilted a fraction. “That was only a small slip of the tongue.”

  She lifted her eyebrows in a knowing way. “I suppose I can say you caught yourself in time—this time.”

  He shifted his position and asked, “What kind of notes will you be studying?”

  “Things I had planned to do in the coming weeks. I doubt you’d be interested as none of them included you appearing in my life and wanting me to help you be a better gentleman, but I will manage.”

  He sucked in a low chuckle. “Being with me today hasn’t been all bad, has it?”

  She couldn’t lie. “No. It hasn’t.” It has been pleasurable. Brina gave herself an internal shake. That was dangerous thinking. She needed to avoid getting too comfortable with him. “I enjoyed the ride over here and the chocolate. Tell me, do you really want to know my plans or are you only wanting to avoid reading poetry?”

  He seemed to debate that, then said, “Both.”

  “Fair enough.” She unfolded the paper. “The top of my list is to start a weekly art class at the girls’ school. Julia and Adeline have agreed. I don’t know how much you know about the school, but the students are being taught how to read, write, and add their numbers as well as the seamstress trade so they can earn a living for themselves and their families one day. I think it will also be nice for them to have an appreciation of creating beauty with paints as well as fabrics. Lyon, Adeline’s husband, gave the school a pianoforte and they love singing. I hear them every morning. So, this will be another way for them to express themselves that doesn’t have to do with a form of labor.”

  “I can see this idea makes you happy.”

  “It does. The girls are eager to learn all that’s put before them. It’s refreshing to talk with them. I received so many flowers recently that I took some of the bouquets over to the school for the girls. One of them reached out and touched a rose. I could tell how much she appreciated the velvety smooth petal and delicate beauty of it, and I thought, she needs to learn how to paint a flower.”

  “I suppose the more good things one can be exposed to, the better life one will have,” he offered as an observation.

  “Yes,” she agreed, heartened that even th
is rake thought her idea a good one. “I feel the same way. I was going to spend some time this afternoon getting things ready for art lessons, but now, I’ll do that another day.”

  “What else is on your list?”

  “I have some weekly things I do for the Sisters of Pilwillow Crossings. I help with their charitable efforts. And I want to walk around town and look at some buildings.”

  A gust of wind whipped around the tree and she pulled his scarf higher on her neck. The earl suddenly stood up and reached for her hand. “Let’s move around. I can see you’re getting cold.”

  Oddly, she hadn’t noticed the chill. She took his hand and rose. Even though his gloves had been off for some time, when his fingers closed around hers, she felt their warmth, but quickly slid her hand out of his grasp.

  “Strolling downtown is something we can do together,” he said but made no move to start walking, so they stayed in front of the tree.

  “I’m afraid you would find it quite boring. I won’t be doing it to admire the architecture. The girls will need a place to open a seamstress shop one day. They will have to do an apprenticeship with someone first, but I want them to eventually have their own building. It’s never too early to start looking for options in different sections of Town. Not only that, I’ve noticed there’s a small building directly behind the abbey. I want to look into the possibility of buying that for the sisters one day. So, you see,” she added with confidence. “I simply won’t be able to see you every day.”

  “What would that building be for?”

  “A chapel. They don’t have a real one—well, that’s not to say it isn’t real. Of course it is, but it’s only a small room inside the abbey. I thought a larger space for their relics, prayer books, and gatherings of quiet reflection time would be nice.”

  He stared into her eyes for a long time, as if he were taking stock of her. His eyes and the way he looked at her were tender, as they had been when they spoke about Stewart.